[identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com
The Secret of Their Success by [livejournal.com profile] alynwa post on July 21, 2012.
She Forgot The Title (literally, no title) by [livejournal.com profile] mrua7 on July 21, 2013
The World Is A Treacherous Place (editorial) by [livejournal.com profile] glennagirl on July 21, 2014
The Office Cat by [livejournal.com profile] otherhawk on July 20, 2015 ... This date is chock full of stuff, check it out. The 21st has three entries, but it's mrua7 and me again, so... day before is good.
Chasing Rainbows by [livejournal.com profile] lilidelafield on July 21, 2016

You have a wealth of stories if you'll just click on the Archive button at the top of the main page here on Section VII. It offers everything that's ever posted here, and that's a lot of reading material.
It's just happenstance who I found by going back to today's date, but if you'd like to rec one of your stories from around the same time, then please share so we can get another look at what came before.
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Hi! I fell off the grid for quite some time there. Hope some of you still remember me. This is actually the first thing I've written for four months, which is the kind of record I don't particularly care for. Anyway, this is based off Spinning Wheels.

Circling )

Korea 1951

Sometimes things went wrong no matter how clever the plan was. That was what Napoleon told himself as he trudged through the mud towards the distant village. It didn't help much. No matter what he remembered Frankie's screams and Kowalski's empty eyes, and he went over and over every moment of the mission in his head trying to find some point where he could have stopped it all from going wrong.

If they'd known about the retreat...if the shelling hadn't wrecked the jeep....if they'd been able to make it to the ridge before being flanked....if they hadn't stumbled into the minefield..... If he'd been smarter, faster, better....

His thoughts were spinning in endless circles. As if he didn't have enough troubles here and now. He couldn't even be sure that the village ahead was friendly - he thought he was back behind their own lines but he had to admit that wasn't much more than a guess. Not that he had many choices here. With no supplies, no map or compass and only fourteen rounds left his situation was looking just a little desperate.

Stay positive, he told himself firmly. With any luck there would be some friendly local who knew English or was prepared to speak slow enough that he could get some directions. As long as he could find some soldiers with a radio he'd be back with his unit by nightfall. And maybe then Major Morgan would give out that two day pass he'd been talking about. Even....even on his own, the chill of cheap champagne and the thrill of willing flesh would soon drown out the troubles of the last few days. Right. He didn't even believe it himself.

Frankie's screaming lingered in his head.

Siberia 1958

Things went wrong; it was inevitable. Regardless of how prepared one was, how careful, events had a way of spilling out uncontrollably. Yet even though Illya knew that perfectly well, failure still rankled. Dr Egorov was dead. He'd spent two weeks undercover in this hellhole of a camp trying to get close to the man only to lose him to Bukin's pet assassin. Foolish; he should have spotted the man sooner - had the cold and the misery here dulled his mind?

His thoughts were circling like dark vultures. He had managed to persuade Dr Egorov to give him the formula. That, and his previously unblemished record might be enough to save him from his superior's wrath, if he was lucky. Of course, if luck was not with him he might just end up locked in here for real. His gaze drifted out across the figures huddled hopeless beneath the falling snow. How many of them were here because they had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, or failed in some assignment?

No. Stay focused, he told himself. There was no sense in resigning himself to failure. Yes, he had failed to keep Egorov alive, but he did have the formula, and he had got a good look at the assassin. In this weather there was no way he could have got far, and that meant that Illya had the chance to catch up with him. Exposing this plot was his both his duty and his exoneration.

He didn't think about what would happen if he failed.

Milwauke 1964

From time to time things went wrong. That was inevitable; it was how you dealt with the consequences afterwards that really mattered in Napoleon's opinion.

"I blame you," Illya said with feeling as they ran through the mud.

Of course, there were other schools of thought....

"I'm pretty sure all our current problems can be traced back to the weather, pal," he pointed out, somewhat breathlessly. "And you can't blame me for that."

"Of course I can," Illya said loftily. "You were the one who placed his shoes upside down on the windowsill. My babushka would tell you that is always a way to bring on the rain."

Napoleon gazed at him, or rather at the back of his head, hair plastered down by the rain. "Naturally, I mean no offense to your babushka -"

" - Naturally," Illya agreed.

" - But her grandson is a liar. You're making that up."

"The rain is going down the back of my shirt, Napoleon. And I fear our quarry is leading us in circles."

It was possible. The storm had caused a powercut which had led to their prisoner making his escape in the dark and the confusion. And since he had vital intelligence, they needed to get him back quickly. Mr Waverly had already made his displeasure plain.

He grinned. "If you ran as hard as you complained, you would have caught him already."

Somehow, trouble was never as bad when they were in it together.
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com

The generator sat stubbornly inactive in spite of all evidence that told Illya it should be working right now. He had spoken the truth to Napoleon a moment ago; he thought he knew what the problem was, he just didn't know what could be causing it. His earlier attempts at fixing it suggested that the power was being drained the instant it was generated, though he had no idea by what...or whom.

Still, causes could wait until later, right now it was more important that they get the power back up. Right now he was operating on the hypothesis that the power was being drawn away, and he was willing to bet that with the proper shielding he could protect the generator from whatever was happening. Of course, there was still the possibility that the power would be sucked out later down the line, but as long as they had enough time to track Mr Waverly's homing device that wasn't important.

As he remembered there was a new type of shielding they had been working on in the lab to block radio transmissions. There should be enough to surround the generator.

He hurried to the lab, only to find a crude barricade erected across the door. Hmmm. Evidently not everyone had found their way to the cafeteria. It would perhaps be wiser to call out before approaching. “Hello?”

A metal spar sprang out of the barricade, narrowly missing his head.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Illya hadn't turned up to breakfast, which was unusual enough that Napoleon had turned right around and headed back upstairs to check on him. He stood outside his partner's hotel room, knocking, waiting and slowly starting worrying. Just before he reached the point of forcing the door, he heard shuffling footsteps and a second later Illya pulled the door open.

For a long moment they just stood there looking at each other, Illya, red nosed, bleary-eyed and wearing a dressing gown with at least a half dozen handkerchiefs poking out the pockets.

"I'b not sick," he announced stuffily.

"Uh huh." Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I believe you, pal."

Illya sighed huffily and broke off coughing. "I might be gedding a cold," he admitted. "But I ab treating it."

"WIth what?" Napoleon asked involuntarily.

There was a pause. Illya's eyes narrowed. "Resentment," he hissed.
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Prompt word: plunge
Prompt colour: purple
Word count 907

Sorry, this is a little too on the ridiculous side. I've been watching too much X Files.

“So what do you think?” Napoleon asked, peering dubiously into the lake, almost gagging at the putrid smell coming off the foaming purple water.

“I think we have found what we are looking for,” Illya replied darkly, looking towards the factory on the opposite shore, the waste pipes clearly pouring something into the water.

Yes, he’d already figured that much. “Yes, but what is it,” he asked, toeing gingerly at the stained rocks underfoot. There was an oily green residue that somehow mingled with the purple, swirling in some way that almost made him sick to look at. “Aren’t you supposed to be a scientist?”

Illya shrugged. “I can take samples and get it analysed, but just from looking I have no idea. If you are looking for my scientific opinion, then scientifically speaking, I advise you refrain from taking a plunge.”

“Ah, the wonders of education,” he said wryly, his eyes scanning the tree line. Despite their bickering, they were both on high alert. This THRUSH plant was in the middle of nowhere, but in their hike up to it they had passed three concealed checkpoints. All were empty. All showed signs of having been abandoned in a hurry. And, their voices and footsteps apart, there was a silence hanging in the air that felt unnatural. If the only water supply had been contaminated by whatever THRUSH was doing here then the local wildlife might have simply been forced to move on, but that didn’t stop the quiet from being eerie. It didn’t stop him being sure someone was watching them either. “Let’s go.”

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Prompt word: adapt
Prompt colour: black
Word count: 429

"I'm just saying you need to be more prepared to adapt, tovarisch. Sometimes plans fall to pieces and there's no use complaining about it afterwards."

"It is not the adaptation I have a problem with. It is the plans falling to pieces. Or rather I should say the plans being helped to fall to pieces."

"I can't help feel that I'm the target of your resentment somehow."

"I resent being stuck in the middle of a storm on this deserted island for the next thirty six hours with no supplies and only you for company."

"Well I resent that too but you don't see me blaming you."

"Blaming me...?! I think the rain has caused your brain to rot. How could you possibly think this is my fault?"

Read more... )
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
I'm a day late to the party - sorry.

The world slowly reformed itself from an indistinct white blur to white sheets in a white room with his leg stretched above him in a white cast.

Ah, yes. The hospital in Amsterdam. He remembered stumbling in here after the shooting, and the doctor telling him they were going to have to operate. His mouth was dry and his head ached. Really, there was very little difference between the after effects of general anaesthetic and THRUSH drugs. How nice it would be to avoid both for a spell.

He was not even supposed to be here right now. His assignment had concluded and he had been ready to return to New York when he had spotted Dr Locke unexpectedly in Europe. He had followed him, of course, and found a satrap, of course, and from that point things could almost be considered to have gone well, if they hadn't ended with him here, laid up in hospital, instead of enjoying a nice time back home.

He grimaced; this was just his luck. "Happy Birthday, Illya Kuryakin," he muttered miserably to himself.

"And many more to come," Napoleon rejoined cheerfully.

Twisting his head round quickly he saw his partner sitting on a chair by his bedside, a cup of coffee in his hand. He was absolutely certain that Napoleon had not been on this continent when he fell asleep. "What are you doing here?" he asked, admittedly somewhat stupefied.

Napoleon smiled. "An unexpected layover," he said airily. "I had some time so I thought I would come and see you. Your birthday was yesterday, by the way. You've already missed the party."

"Good," he said with feeling.

"You don't really mean that," Napoleon said, pained.

Perhaps not. Though rignt now all he wanted was to curl up and feel sorry for himself. "When can I get out of here?" he asked, instead of replying.

"A few days," Napoleon told him patiently. "You had the doctors worried, pal."

"How distressing for them," he murmured drowsily, his eyes already closing. He forced them open with an effort and looked at Napoleon. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"

"Yes," he promised comfortingly.

Good. It was always better not to be alone. He relaxed and let himself fall asleep.
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
In the spirit of today, here's the first story I ever posted for MFU....just over a year ago, lol. I'm fairly certain I remember writing other Man From UNCLE stories, when I was first watching the show as a small child, but even if I still had those I wouldn't share them! Though they were all terribly exciting at the time.

Link takes you to AO3
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
From the boat they could see the horizon burning a dull red. Ash and dust hung hot in the air, leaving their throats scorched and raw with each breath.

"I don't suppose we shall ever find that satrap now," Illya said leadenly.

Napoleon shook his head. No doubt the THRUSH base had vanished beneath the deadly flow of lava with the rest of the village. He and Illya had been lucky to escape with their lives. For a moment there, as red hot stones had stormed down around them, he had really thought the end had come. "I guess this is a reminder that no matter what THRUSH does, they're never going to be more powerful than Mother Nature."
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Prompt word: parrot
Prompt colour: orange
Wordcount: 510

Car Pirates

“I always wanted to try a life of piracy,” Napoleon remarked, steadying the parrot cage with one hand and firing backwards through the window with the other.

Illya kept his foot down and his eyes on the road. “Traditionally, the life of piracy has involved a lot of time in the sea. You would hate it.”

On the sea, not in the sea,” Napoleon corrected. “If I was a dashing pirate I'd have no intention of going into the water.”

You don't have any intention of going into the water now,” Illya said, entirely accurately. “It still happens regularly. How many of them are behind us now?”

Three,” Napoleon told him, glancing back.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Unexpectedly a continuation to my response to the pic fic challenge last week, Airport Lost and Found.

Prompt word: gaunt
Prompt colour: purple
Word count: 696

The red-eye back to New York was practically empty, which Napoleon was grateful for. The hospital might have declared Illya fit enough to travel but his partner's face was still too pale and gaunt for Napoleon's liking. An extra few days of rest would have been welcome. As it was Illya had fallen asleep before the plane even took off, and he had only roused long enough to eat the unidentified meal that the smiling stewardess brought round before his eyes were closed again.

In the interests of maintaining tradition, Napoleon just sat and read his newspaper and acted like he wasn't worrying.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
I don't know if anyone remembers this, since it's been about nine months, but this chapter has basically been about ninety percent done for most of that time. So here, finally, is the conclusion, for anyone who might be curious about my take on Napoleon and Illya's early time together.

Part one was here

The tracker stopped moving soon after, to Napoleon's relief, and even on foot he managed to catch up within twenty minutes. With any luck THRUSH still hadn't figured out that Kuryakin wasn't Hurwicz. If that was the case, they'd be keeping him alive and – relatively – unharmed.

Apparently THRUSH was hiding out in a small amusement arcade. Hmmm. He looked at the people spilling in and out of the wide open entrance way. Families with their children, young couples...a man on his own, dressed like he was, would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. And the guy on the door was looking at each person going in – casually, maybe, but Napoleon knew a THRUSH guard when he saw one. There wasn't much chance of him sneaking in without being noticed.

Keeping his distance on the other side of the street, he pulled out his communicator and called Randolph. “Are you back yet?”

“No, not quite,” Randolph said, sounding distracted. “The traffic is a nightmare this time of day.”

He was alert immediately. “Not normally. Look around, does it seem as though anyone is following you?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly, followed by an awkward pause. “I....we ran into some roadworks. The ones that Kuryakin told us about, I guess.”

Ah. He carefully refrained from making any comment. “Alright. Do you think you're going to make it back okay?”

“Trust me,” Randolph said with a sigh.

He smiled. “Just being careful.”

“Right.” He could picture the head shake. “Well, just make sure you're careful with THRUSH.”

He had every intention of it.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Surveillance Report -  04/04/1965 - Oakham, England

Day 1

Set up surveillance in bellfry overlooking townhouse, after failing to evict previous inhabitants; a crowd of unruly pigeons. (See separate expense report 40176/attached bill from NS' tailor.)

No sign of Reynolds within house. Intercepted communications indicate he is expected imminently.

Day 2

NS late to relieve IK by 3 hours 28 minutes. Did not bring scones. Reports intervening in the affairs of local holistic therapist. Evidence suggests she is a brunette.

(She's an important material witness. NS.)

Day 3

Reynolds arrived at 17:08. Approached townhouse under cover of darkness. IK regrettably captured but successfully escaped and achieved total destruction of townhouse with zero fatalities. (See separate collateral explosion damage report 0836 & statement of apology to friendly national government.) NS retrieved cypher and captured Reynolds through hitherto unsuspected gymnastic prowess.

(Thanks. NS.)

Intelligence that Curtis was in Rome proved out of date. Arrived in a hostile mood and shot Reynolds while attempting to retrieve cypher. (See separate non-fatal injury to prisoner report) Successfully decoyed with holistic therapy pamphlet attached to pigeon. Neither Curtis nor Mr Feathers survived encounter. NS recommends Mr Feathers for burial with full honours.

(I was joking. NS.)

Mission successful within parameters. Returning NY 04/07/1965. IK.
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com

Illya dropped into the chair at the airport departure lounge with a barely suppressed sigh, glad to be heading home at last but still inexpressibly exhausted. He'd spent the past couple of weeks as a not-so-willing 'guest' of one Jean Robert, a particularly sadistic sort even by THRUSH standards, and while he'd escaped without serious injury he was a lot weaker than he wanted to admit. Which made it even more frustrating that they had reached Charles De Gaulle airport only to find it blanketed in a thick fog and all flights temporarily grounded.

Struggling not to close his eyes, he pushed himself back into the chair, his copy of the European Physics Review falling unread into his lap. He didn't make a habit of letting his guard down in such a public place, but right now the only thing keeping him awake was the couple sitting behind him holding an animated argument about the price of poodles.

Napoleon was over by the desk, ostensibly checking how much longer they were likely to be delayed, in reality flirting nicely with the pretty girl on duty.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Prompt word - mature
Prompt colour - blue
Word count - 475

Blueish Cheese

Napoleon silently dropped down from the ledge onto the mossy cave floor, narrowly avoiding kicking Illya in the head.

“Good morning, Napoleon. Did you sleep well?”

“I have a crick in my neck that may never come out.” He rubbed at it irritably, grimacing at the pain. “What I wouldn't give for my nice soft bed right about now. Any sign of THRUSH?”

Illya looked up at him briefly. “Yes, they were here earlier for breakfast and we had a pleasant conversation. I decided not to wake you.”

Read more... )
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com

“Well, this is me,” Maria said expectantly, stopping outside a good-sized villa at the top of the hill. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Napoleon.”

“You're welcome,” he smiled, his hand still entwined in hers. “I only wish we had more time to spend together.”

“Well...” She drew the word out, blushing lightly. “You could always come in for a nightcap. If you like.”

“I think I would.”

She laughed slightly and squeezed his hand as she led him inside.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
"I blame you for this entirely."

Napoleon looked across the room towards his partner as he rubbed uncomfortably at the red marks on his arms and legs. And chose to say nothing.

"Head for the trees, you said," Illya went on through gritted teeth. "They will never find us there, you said."

"They didn't," he pointed out.

"Yes," Illya agreed significantly. "They didn't."

He sighed. "I wasn't the one who ran smack into the wasp nest," he pointed out plaintively.

Illya just glared at him and pointedly pulled out the remains of a stinger from his neck.

Napoleon winced.
[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com

Yes, I know this is a day late but I found some inspiration and that happens so rarely these days I decided to just trust that no one would mind!

Prompt word: guest
Prompt colour: copper
Word count: 741

“We are all at the mercy of technology,” the blond g-man with the funny accent remarked to his compatriot.

Lenny didn't think this was a suitable time for philosophy. He had been snatched off the street by these terrifying spooks and held in this windowless, concrete room for hours, accused of being a spy, an enemy agent and even a thrush, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. He hadn't done anything wrong! Except for all the robberies, that was, but apart from them he was as innocent as the day was long.

Read more... )

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Prompt word: Tact
Prompt colour: pink
Word count - 470

April Dancer strode into the commissary, grabbed a coffee, slamming the mug down, before practically flinging herself into her usual seat and glaring around as though daring anyone to say a word.

Her hair was unexpectedly a vibrant pink. A stunned silence spread through the room.

Read more... )


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